Part 3: The Cycles of the Setting Sun
by Armando Ortiz
The uprooted window of light, glides in heaven, moving like the mythical quetzal that floats between worlds, slowly slithering, navigating through words.
It emits preternatural rays that reach earth’s bays.
Its voice is deciphered with the blooming leaves of yesterday, and the blossoms of autumn maple leaves.
This powerful dragon ball carries dharma with golden explosions, and from its central point life emerges.
Huitzilopotchi blazes proudly it's aura, refracting its image of polished emeralds in a canopy of greens, perpetuating ruby emblems, as plebeians chant Verde Verde.
The water’s edge mirrors a serpent body that undresses and dips into a deep blue, reflecting a coral necklace that shimmers on the surface.
The Great Spirit wanders through every particle that calls this limitless bubble home.
The sphere slowly plummets under the distant mountain ranges, revealing the silhouette of a sleeping princess who lays trapped in a slumber of dreams, waiting for Perseus who brings Medusa and armor to release her.
Ridges turn into mesas where natural men embark on vision quests that become epic desert wanderings.
Mountain tops transform the ancient fire and volcanoes implode becoming petrified rock walls imprinted with petroglyph oracles, and hummingbirds begin their synchronized dance.
Passing through giant pyramids that stand rusting they trek into wombs of virgin jungles where the heat doesn’t feel and piranhas smell the blood that pumps through their veins, inside canyons of hidden caves.
Glowing embers dangle above as the eternal pendulum, emitting the decaying heat of summer days reach the old bay, showering us with life and its cycles replenish us.
Pyrotechnic yellows and violent polyhedrons blast into millions of cosmic rays, making nuclear colors burst in purple, and putting on a performance of multiple fireworks that explode as umbrellas that open up and twirl like kaleidoscope sutras.
Oceans of orange prisms travel unfiltered through the pupils of glaring Olmec heads that emit silvery yellow whirlpools with exploding lemon daisies.
The flower of life bursts with bangs, blooming precious particles of our nearest past from where Prometheus stole the three dimensional petal of electric plasma.
Sunflowers follow the trajectory of Rah.
Psychedelic rays of mystical heptagons carry the sacred life forces of elliptical atoms and the hidden messages that Sufi wanderers absorb, which the people attempt to deplore but the tie-dyed colors of the atmosphere melt before us, and paints the life that envelops all.
Nazca spiders weave mythical tales with intricate plasma webs that send prayers to undiscovered realms, putting together eternal dream catchers that communicate with heavenly creatures and perform dramas with Jupiter and Saturn.
Clouds hover above the eternal sea, like black phoebes perching on invisible branches gently parading and floating over peach horizons, reflecting smooth polyester balls that glide past our sight.
Puffy cotton mounds partition a sparse lingering light that sinks into an ocean of gargoyles and pestering ancient parasites.
The geometric visions like the Huichol deer that see all under the canopy of blue stars disappear with the rise of the evening star.
Ancestral spirits exist between planetary valleys separated by sophisticated theological postulations. On imaginary planes light bends and microcosmic elements crash into invisible space.
Petrol hydrocarbons replace dawn’s light, fighting protracted wars with darkness, disintegrating into dusty vapors, giving beings light while entropy laughs its last laugh and disorder persistently expands its parameters.
This perpetual cycle of decay is a battle that’s persisted since yesterday became past and neutrons ceased emitting splendorous waves like the sacred yin and yang of the stars and today.
We join the pandemonium in hopes of finding equilibrium with the elements that ignore our existence and commence cosmic battles.
The wheel of time consumes all under heaven and devours those that are too powerful on earth to be served on ceramic platters.
Yet we continue to build our towers of Babel and our rockets make artificial rainbows, in attempts to replace nature’s power.
Invisible giants trace the dances that Peruvian condors have written with claws on deserted pampa plateaus. Now panthers wander on a plane of sacred and mundane space.
We trace the journeys of these night beings, holding the ancestral fire, and following the outlines of labyrinth journeys.
Preachers predict the coming of a mighty one, but this apocalypse has already commenced, and Peter’s rock melts like a plastic toy that drips mango drops into the precipice of infinity, where Jesus extends his pierced hand at us and cries in ecstasy.
Poverty stricken men prepare for their plundering night as they step out of their dilapidated homes and merge onto old traveling trails imprinted by the three poisons.
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